


Incognito

by lockheed_london



Series: Fantasies [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8544598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockheed_london/pseuds/lockheed_london
Summary: Martin confesses a fantasy to Douglas.(See Author's Note for warnings)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Caveat lector: when deciding whether to read, please be aware that this story features a couple roleplaying a non-con encounter, within a healthy and loving relationship. If this isn't your cup of tea, you may want to give this one a miss.
> 
> Also: un-betaed - please comment if you see any typos or with any concrit.

On the night in question Martin takes an absolute age to fall asleep, a fact that Douglas knows for certain since he finds that he too is searching for sleep in vain.

Martin is warm and heavy in Douglas’ arms. Both of them lying on their sides facing each other, Martin is curled into Douglas, his head tucked under Douglas’ chin and his breath stirring the hair along Douglas’ chest. Martin lies still for a few minutes, and then shifts to rub his nose.

A minute later, he has an itch that needs to be scratched.

After that the placement of the pillows is suddenly not quite to his liking and he wriggles, settling himself more comfortably.

Each time he fidgets Douglas loosens his embrace, not wanting Martin to feel pinned or trapped, and then as Martin settles and tucks himself more tightly against Douglas, Douglas clasps him close once more. Beneath it all Martin is desperately in need of reassurance, though he’d sooner die than admit it, and so Douglas rubs his hand firmly along Martin’s back and moulds his palm across Martin’s nape; if he could then he’d pull the tension out of Martin and into himself, God knows he copes with it better.

“You can change your mind,” Douglas murmurs at last, when Martin shuffles yet again and his bony knees bump Douglas’. “At any point. No questions asked.”

“N-no.” Martin shakes his head, resolute. “Unless... unless you want to, that is, I–”

“No. Not at all.” To emphasise his point Douglas lets his palm continue downward on its next pass to curve lightly over Martin’s bum, provoking a gratifying shiver and gasp from Martin.

(Martin is half-hard in his boxers. He has been for a while now. Neither of them mention it, but Douglas is acutely aware that it’s yet another reason Martin is finding it difficult to sleep.)

“Okay then,” Martin says, to Douglas’ chest.

“Yes.”

After that, there’s nothing more to be said.

***

Finally Martin’s body succumbs to sheer exhaustion, and his breaths at last grow slow and deep. Douglas glances at the clock on his nightstand. Probably best not to let Martin get too deeply asleep, and Douglas sets the alarm on his phone for thirty minutes before stuffing it under his pillow.

He can’t manage much more than a doze, nerves fluttering in his stomach, and when the alarm on his phones vibrates silently he has no trouble waking.

Right then. It’s time.

Douglas gently eases himself out from under Martin, coaxing Martin’s head back onto a pillow from where it’s migrated to his shoulder. Martin doesn’t wake, only mutters something in his sleep and nuzzles into Douglas’ pillow, and Douglas passes a gentle hand over Martin’s hair before getting up.

Silently, Douglas collects the bag from the bottom of his wardrobe – cloth, so that there’s no betraying rustle and crinkle of a plastic bag – and takes it through into the bathroom. He changes into the black trousers and thin, long-sleeved T-shirt, and ensures the necessary supplies are in his pockets. Every inch of this has been meticulously planned, and he’s not going to fail now.

A pause, outside the bedroom door, for Douglas to breathe deeply and collect himself.

 _He wants this,_ Douglas reminds himself for the hundredth time. _He asked you for it, you know he did. Eventually._

***

_Martin, his face flushed partly from exertion and partly with embarrassment, lying in bed with Douglas._

_“Sometimes I...”_

_“Go on.” Douglas’ own skin is tacky with sweat and he’s completely exhausted, but he’s also coasting along on endorphins and the sight of Martin right now is inspiring, to say the least. He runs a hand along Martin’s side._

_“I don’t mean that I’d want it to happen in real life,” Martin says quickly. His breath is still coming a bit quicker than usual. “Or... or that I think it’s ok. I mean, it’s_ not _, I really–”_

_“Understood,” Douglas says patiently. He’s often impatient with Martin, when Martin is overly hung up on rules and regulations, but here and now he has all the time in the world. “That’s why they’re fantasies, though. They’re just a safe space to indulge yourself; they’re certainly not a statement about your morals in everyday life, and only a fool would take them as such.”_

_Secretly he almost can’t believe this is truly happening. After their interlude on the sofa, where Martin had agreed to play out one of Douglas’ fantasies, Douglas had taken to asking Martin what his own sexual fantasies were. Martin hadn’t told him at the first time of asking, but Douglas hadn’t really thought he would. Instead he had made a sort of game of it: every couple of weeks, after sex, he would stroke a hand along Martin’s spine and ask. And, every time, Martin would flush and stammer and demur. But Douglas persisted, creeping closer inside Martin’s defences, inch by inch, until at last, this evening, Martin had drawn breath to make his usual denial but then hesitated. Douglas, scenting victory, had barely needed to press him before Martin – writhing a little, half-afraid but so obviously wanting to tell – had yielded._

_“Yes.” Here Martin swallows, his fingers pinching at a fold of the pillowcase. “Well. Sometimes I... when I’m... you know... I like to pretend that you... I mean, not_ you _, but that... someone... is, that they’ve...”_

_Douglas dips his hand lower, slides it between Martin’s thighs to cup his penis, soft and still damp from Douglas’ saliva._

_“I’ve just had your cock in my mouth,” he says silkily, watching Martin’s Adam’s apple bob frantically. “In fact I took it in my mouth and sucked at it, and pushed my fingers inside you until you had an orgasm. And I enjoyed it all very nearly as much as you did.”_

_Martin’s chest rises and falls, and Douglas almost fancies he can see Martin’s heart thumping away in his ribcage._

_“So believe me when I say that there is nothing you cannot tell me.”_

_The sheets crumple where Martin’s fingers tighten in them, and Martin shuts his eyes and mutters quickly. “Sometimes I like to pretend that I’m... sometimes I fantasise that someone’s–”_

***

Douglas strides into the bedroom, not bothering to be quiet, as decisive and quick now as he was slow and gentle earlier.

***

_“–someone’s broken into the student house, over the summer hols when no-one’s there but me. He’s looking for things. You know, things to steal, but there’s, um. There’s nothing there. And he gets... well, he gets annoyed about that.”_

_A pause, another swallow, but this time Douglas wouldn’t interrupt for the world._

_“And by the time he gets to the attic and finds me he’s so annoyed that he... he s-says that he’s not leaving here without _something_ and so he. He.” Martin chews briefly at his lip. “He ties me up and... you know. Forces me. And I don’t want to at first but then he’s really, um, _good_ , and I... I like it.”_

_Douglas exhales, a dark and unnameable flutter in his stomach at the mental picture Martin was drawing._

_“It’s awful, I know,” Martin says at once, his nerve breaking, covering his face with his hands, “it’s disgusting, I don’t know_ why _I think of it, my God, you must think I’m a completely horrible person–”_

***

In Douglas’ absence Martin has curled himself around Douglas’ pillow; Douglas plucks it out of the way and roughly tips Martin onto his stomach.

***

_”Darling, no, not at all.” Douglas tries to pry Martin’s hands away from his face._

_Martin resists. “But I mean it’s such an awful–”_

_“It’s_ fine _.” Refusing to be discouraged, Douglas grips Martin’s wrists and pulls, gently but steadily. “You’re fine, you’re marvellous, and I’m so glad you shared that with me.”_

_Slowly, Martin lets Douglas draw his hands away and grip them firmly between his own. He looks at Douglas with his worry written clear as day all over his face. “So you don’t think I’m a complete...”_

_“No. Never, darling, not for a moment.” And Douglas kisses Martin’s hands before pulling him close to kiss away the anxious line between his eyebrows._

***

“Wha’...” Martin slurs, waking and lifting his head, and Douglas catches hold of Martin’s wrists and draws them up to the headboard.

“Not a sound,” Douglas orders harshly, gripping both Martin’s wrists in one large hand as he quickly kneels astride Martin’s back and loops the soft rope around Martin’s left wrist. “Not a word out of you, otherwise I’ll gag you, d’you hear me?”

An entirely empty threat, since the last thing Douglas wants to do is stifle Martin’s option to call a halt to this. Martin is well aware of the fact, but nevertheless he stutters, “Y-yes,” and sounds entirely convincing.

“Good,” Douglas growls.

His hands shake a little as he loops the rope around a pole in the headboard and ties the knots; he’s practised them over and over, in private, and by now he could do them with his eyes shut – quick release knots, with a long trailing end on each that’s easy for Martin to grab and pull – but it’s different doing them for real, in the dark.

***

_”Would you want the lights on or off?”_

_Martin is in Douglas’ arms, his head on Douglas’ shoulder and a hand tracing idle shapes on Douglas’ chest. He seems to find it easier to talk about this if he doesn’t have to look at Douglas’ face, for instead of shutting down the discussion he only murmurs, “I... oh, um, it doesn’t really matter, I don’t–”_

_“On or off?” Douglas presses, honestly curious to know._

_“I... off. It’s easier to pretend that... you know.”_

_A pause, with only Martin’s fingers moving as they play over Douglas’ chest, and Douglas closes his eyes. Fascinating that_ this _should be Martin’s fantasy, out of all the common scenarios people usually conjure up. But then, as Douglas thinks more about Martin, about his strict adherence to rules and propriety, so precious about his authority as captain, perhaps not so surprising after all that the thing he chooses to fantasise about is_ not _being in control. Having it wrested away from him by force, if needs be._

_“So we’re... um.” Martin stirs, flattening his palm over Douglas’ ribs. “You’re talking like you would be... interested. In doing it.”_

_Martin has gone tense in his arms and Douglas thinks, weighing his words carefully before replying. “It’s up to you, darling. Would you_ want _me to do it?”_

_The reply is so soft that Douglas almost doesn’t hear it, as Martin turns and tucks a knee between Douglas’ and half-confesses it into the skin of Douglas’ throat. “Yes. Please.”_

***

At last Martin’s wrists are immobilised, and Douglas gets off the bed.

“Don’t try to get out of those,” he cautions gruffly, “and no noise either.”

With that he leaves the room, supposedly to search the house but in reality to spend two minutes leaning against the wall in the upstairs hallway, breathing deeply and focussing on the next bit. The incongruity hits him, though, of pretending to be a disgruntled and empty-handed thief in his nice house with the art on the walls, the large TV, the stereo, and the Lexus outside, and he stifles a breath of nervous laughter against the back of his wrist.

“What the fuck d’you call this,” he snarls, striding back into the bedroom. “There’s nothing bloody well _here_.”

‘I...” Martin stutters, “I... um...”

Douglas spares him the effort of improvisation and rests one knee on the bed to grip Martin’s nape. “Did I say you could speak?”

Martin’s hair rustles against the pillow as he shakes his head, and Douglas relaxes his hand to stroke down Martin’s back.

“Well then,” he says. “Since there’s nothing here for me, you’re just going to have to make it up to me, aren’t you?”

“No,” Martin gasps, his voice gone high, “no, please don’t.”

***

_The following morning, poring over the Guardian crossword, Douglas sips his coffee and asks idly, ”What would your safeword be?”_

_Martin blinks. “Oh. Um. I hadn’t thought of... I mean the whole point is that I don’t_ want _you to stop, though. No matter what I say, or do.”_

 _Oh_ Martin _. Douglas looks at him over the top of his reading glasses, fond and mildly exasperated. “Which is exactly and precisely, my love, why you need something to say if you really_ do _change your mind.”_

***

In lieu of a reply Douglas pushes his hand under the waistband of Martin’s boxers to palm his arse, stroking his fingers lightly along the crease of Martin’s buttocks.

“Oh yes, I think so,” he purrs.

Douglas gets onto the bed, the mattress dipping and shifting under his weight. He’s starting to get hard despite himself, and he stops feeling Martin up and grips his calves.

“Spread your legs,” Douglas orders, and when Martin refuses Douglas firms his grip and pulls them open.

Martin whimpers at this, his face pressed into a pillow. Douglas shuffles up the bed, using his knees to hold Martin’s thighs in their splay, and slides both palms up the legs of Martin’s boxers and uses his thumbs to spread Martin’s buttocks slightly.

“I bet you’d be a fantastic fuck,” Douglas says, and Martin’s legs press against his knees as he tries to close them.

“You don’t want to do this,” Martin pleads, and even though Douglas knows it’s all part of the game, hearing those words and that tone from _Martin_ , of all people, makes his stomach clench queasily.

“Oh, I do,” he says, sounding entirely unconvincing as he kneels up and lowers himself to lie on top of Martin, careful to brace his forearms on the bed to take his weight as Martin subtly arches his back to grind his arse up against Douglas’ groin.

Under the pretence of nuzzling Martin’s nape and pushing himself crudely against Martin’s backside, Douglas finds an ear and breathes into it: “You do remember your words, don’t you?”

***

_”I... alright then.” Martin looks down at his coffee for a moment, before saying, “Code Red.”_

_Douglas drops his pen and covers his face with both hands. “Thank you for bringing Carolyn and Arthur into this, darling. Yes, I can promise that that will stop things instantly. Possibly with an option on_ permanently _, good God.”_

_“Good. So that’s agreed, then.”_

_“And amber if you’re not sure about the direction things are going, or want to slow down.”_

_“Don’t you think that seems a bit–”_

_“_ Amber _, Martin.”_

 _“Alright, fine! Yes! Amber it is! Bloody_ hell _.”_

_“You’re welcome.”_

***

Beneath him Martin huffs quietly in annoyance and mutters, “Of _course_ I remember. You made me repeat them enough times.”

That sounds like the Martin that Douglas knows and adores, that unspoken tone of _Can we get_ on _with this?_ , and Douglas nips Martin’s earlobe and rears back up, pulling the character back over himself.

“Get these off then,” Douglas drawls, “and let’s see what I’ve got for my trouble.”

He hooks his fingers near the waistband of Martin’s boxers and drags them down, not bothering to ease the elastic where it cuts into Martin’s flesh. He has to get out from his position between Martin’s legs to work his boxers off; Douglas catches himself thinking, rather critically, that it spoils the flow somewhat, and that next time he’ll have to get Martin’s underwear off _before_ tying him up and kneeling between his thighs and making filthy promises of having his wicked way with Martin. He bites the inside of his cheek so as not to laugh aloud at himself. Next time, indeed. They’re not finished navigating _this_ time yet.

Martin puts up a fine show of reluctance and protest, although it’s belied by the fact that Douglas has to reach underneath Martin to ease Martin’s boxers down over his erection: Martin is fully hard, and his cockhead is already leaving little wet smears on Douglas’ hand and wrist.

“Hmm,” Douglas says, climbing back on the bed and re-positioning himself. This time there’s nothing to impede his hands and he kneads at Martin’s gorgeous arse, spreading his buttocks to rub a dry fingertip across his hole.

“You ever been fucked?” he asks, as Martin gives a strangled noise under the rub and press of his finger.

“Y-yes,” Martin stammers, sounding almost defiant.

Douglas grunts. “Got yourself a little boyfriend then, have you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Martin snaps; Douglas’ eyebrows rise involuntarily at hearing himself described – even indirectly – as Martin’s little boyfriend, and Martin corrects himself. “I mean, no. I... there’s someone. He’s not... not my _boyfriend_ , though, he’s–”

“Does he fuck you?” Douglas interrupts.

“Yes.” Douglas slides a hand down to rub his knuckles against Martin’s perineum, and Martin half-moans.

“He any good at it?”

“Yes.” No mistake, that _is_ a full-throated moan now, and Douglas shuffles his knees back and leans down as inspiration – _filthy_ inspiration – strikes.

“I bet he doesn’t do this for you, though,” he says, making sure to let his breath tickle the small of Martin’s back, and Martin shudders.

“He... you...”

Douglas doesn’t wait for Martin to construct a reply; instead he spreads Martin’s buttocks and licks a hot stripe down from Martin’s coccyx to the back of his balls, feeling Martin tremble under his hands. He works his way back up more slowly, and when he settles his mouth across Martin’s hole, Martin unashamedly moans from further up the bed.

They don’t often do this, but Douglas would bet that Martin was expecting it tonight. Martin tastes musky and dark, and also faintly of soap; he spent so long in a pre-bed shower that Douglas half-wondered if he ought to go and tap on the door to ask if everything was okay, wondering if it was nervousness or something more.

It’s a hell of a turn-on. Douglas licks at Martin: spreads him open with his thumbs and teases Martin’s hole with the tip of his tongue before tightening his grip and French-kissing it like he kisses Martin’s mouth, pushing his tongue inside and feeling it flutter and yield.

It’s strangely liberating, pretending that they’re both other people. Douglas snuffles and grunts as he eats Martin out, until he’s sloppy and wet all the way down to his chin, and Martin makes enough noise that if Douglas really were a burglar then he’d likely be a lot more worried than he actually is. It’s sexy, and illicit, and more than a little bit dirty, and after a few minutes Douglas has to reach down and open his trousers and push his hand inside to touch himself.

Martin is incoherent with pleasure by the time Douglas finally lifts his head, turning his head to wipe his mouth and chin on the back of Martin’s thigh.

“Did you like that?” he says. Entirely needlessly, since Martin is shaking with want beneath him, but frankly his brain is unable to come up with anything more articulate right now. “Hmm?”

He shoves a hand under Martin’s hips, and has to bite down on a groan when he finds a wet patch on the sheet where Martin hasn’t been able to keep himself from leaking all over the place.

“Christ, you like to get wet, don’t you?” he says, and Martin sobs and pushes greedily against Douglas’ palm.

Somehow, in the darkness, Douglas finds it easier to say the sort of crude things to Martin that he usually doesn’t. Truth be told: he hadn’t thought it was something Martin was into, but it looks like he’s going to have to revise that opinion because Martin is going entirely to _pieces_ under him.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he tells Martin. His thumb rubs across Martin’s hole, soft and wet; the tip slides in easily, and Douglas bites down on a groan as his cock throbs. Instead he tries to stay gruff as he says “When was the last time you had a good fuck?”

He knows damn well when it was: at the weekend, when they’d had nothing planned, and a session of kissing on the sofa had turned into something more. Neither of them had wanted to wait long enough to get to the bedroom and so Douglas had pushed Martin down onto the sofa and pulled his legs up and they’d gone at it right there, until Martin had clawed all the cushions off the sofa and onto the floor, and when Douglas came he bit a mark onto Martin’s collarbone that took three days to fade.

Now, however...

“Oh, not for _such_ a long time,” Martin gasps, sounding convincingly nervous as Douglas fishes a tube of lubricant out of his pocket and clicks the cap loudly.

So Martin _does_ want to play, then, and Douglas drops the tube to squeeze Martin’s arse – God, Martin has the nicest, most caressable bum Douglas has seen in a very long time – and growls, “Well you’re about to get it now.”

“You will...” Martin pants, swallowing back a moan as Douglas picks up the tube again and lets a drizzle of cool gel fall directly onto the exposed crack of Martin’s arse, “you will be gentle, won’t you?”

It’s devastatingly sexy to hear Martin like this, pretending to be the innocent that Douglas knows damn well he isn’t, and Douglas leans down so he can say the words in Martin’s ear, pressing his erection firmly against Martin’s back.

“No,” he tells him, nipping hard at Martin’s shoulder when he shivers. “But I will be _good_. You’ll take what I give you and you’ll like it.”

Martin doesn’t reply and for a heartstopping fraction of a second Douglas wonders whether the next word out of his mouth is going to be “amber” or even “red”. But the next moment Martin squirms under him, pretending to struggle while arching his back until Douglas’ cock pushes slick between his buttocks. The head just catches on Martin’s hole and Martin quivers against Douglas, and Douglas presses his mouth to Martin’s shoulder to stop himself giving voice to a moan.

“You little tart,” he mutters, getting back up on his knees and giving a light swat to Martin’s arse. “Up on your knees.”

Immediately Martin shuffles up onto his knees. His bound wrists force him to brace his forearms against the bed and lean on them; he spreads his knees enough for Douglas to get between them but Douglas nudges then just that little bit wider, enough to tip Martin off balance slightly and enough to have the side-effect of exposing him just that little bit more to Douglas. Douglas grips Martin’s hips and tugs him back against his cock, grinding it against Martin’s arse and listening to Martin’s breath.

Douglas slides a hand from Martin’s hip down and inwards, searching for his cock, and when he finds it he can’t resist grinding himself against Martin slightly. Martin is as hard as Douglas has ever felt him, a little drool of precome hanging from the head of his cock, and when Douglas uses it to slick his fingers and pull at Martin’s cock a few times – paying particular attention to the head, as he knows Martin likes – Martin sobs loudly and gasps, “No, wait, I... amber, _amber_.”

It’s not “red”, but the effect is more or less the same: like having a bucket of ice water thrown over him, Douglas’ arousal is quenched and he quickly takes his hand away from Martin’s cock, almost recoiling.

“I’m close,” Martin groans, apparently unaware of the effect on Douglas, “don’t touch me there, I’m too close.”

Right. Of course, everything’s fine. Martin is using the word just exactly as they’ve agreed upon, in fact, and Douglas exhales silently. More than anything else, he desperately wants to do this right for Martin, but the rasp of Martin’s breath and the way he’s tilting his hips back to rub himself against Douglas seem to indicate that the reality is living up to his fantasy.

“Right then,” Douglas grunts. He picks up the tube of lubricant and smears some across his fingers before pushing one roughly into Martin’s arse.

His own erection has softened in the shock of hearing one of their safewords, and he needs a few moments to get fully hard again: he’s not the young man he was. And so, to distract Martin, he thrusts his finger in and out a few times, withdrawing to rub all round Martin’s hole before pushing back in with two.

With his other hand, Douglas pushes his trousers down around his thighs, and covertly starts to masturbate. These days he needs a hand or a mouth to help him get there; he can still get it up, thank God, it just takes a bit longer than it used to, and he rubs and pulls at himself, and swallows heavily as he starts to thicken again.

Meanwhile Martin is apparently lost in a private erotic world of his own: Douglas’ fingers in his arse reduce him to jelly, and he’s squirming and moaning until Douglas’ last few doubts about whether Martin is ok are well and truly quashed. He knows that Martin can’t come just from this – although establishing that fact had made for a few rather marvellous evenings – and so he fingers Martin until Martin is wet with lube all the way down to his inner thighs and he’s rocking back greedily against Douglas’ hand.

When Douglas judges he’s hard enough for penetration, he takes his hand away and quickly smears more lube over his cock.

“Don’t scream,” he tells Martin, gripping Martin’s hip with one slick-sticky hand and holding the base of his cock to line himself up. “Don’t want the neighbours calling the police.”

The warning isn’t entirely all due to their game: Martin is giving little panting whimpers, and when the head of Douglas’ cock pushes inside him he makes a gulping sort of half-cry and his hips strain back towards Douglas.

“Easy,” says Douglas, trying to keep his voice rough through the spine-melting pleasure of his cock in Martin’s body. “I’m driving here.”

He lets himself sink inside inch by inch, while Martin gasps and writhes, and when Douglas is fully inside he lets go of his cock to grab Martin’s hips and pull him back hard, knowing that Martin will feel the rough scratch of hair against his arse.

Dimly, in what little light there is, Douglas can see that Martin’s head is bowed, and when he tries a little thrust Martin’s back arches. God, he wishes he could see Martin’s face for this: Martin looks gorgeous when he’s getting fucked, and it turns Douglas on like mad to see Martin’s expression crumpled in almost agonised bliss.

But that’s not what tonight is about, and so Douglas loosens his grip on Martin’s hips to rub down along the outside of his thighs and back up, before taking hold of him once more and starting to fuck him properly. He begins with little short strokes, just to get Martin used to it, but before long he changes to long, hard thrusts he can really put his back into. Douglas changes things up: he fucks Martin steadily, the grunts and slap of flesh almost crude and animalistic, he pulls out to rub the head of this cock all over Martin’s perineum and tease him, and he torments Martin – and pushes the limits of his own self-restraint – by pressing his cockhead to Martin’s hole and rubbing it rhythmically back and forth, over and around, without dipping inside.

Martin’s noises are delicious. Douglas drinks them in: mewls, and gasps, and little cries that Douglas could swear come from Martin chewing on his lip, and finally he starts begging.

“Touch me, please, _please_ , oh, touch me, I need to come-”

That’s all Douglas can bear to hear, and he immediate shoves back inside Martin and reaches forward to start tugging at his cock as he fucks Martin. With his hands tied Martin is entirely dependent on Douglas to get him off, a thought that makes Douglas feel impossibly powerful and protective and almost _drunk_ with lust, all at once. And the knowledge that, in reality, Martin has the ends of those ropes within his grasp, that he’s _choosing_ to let Douglas do this for him...

“Come on,” Douglas grunts, his hips pistoning into Martin as the headboard rattles and Martin’s cock slides through his fingers like oiled steel. “Come on, come for me.”

Martin has started to stutter out sounds, little gasping cries of “Ah... ah... ah...”; not exactly sticking Douglas’ pretend order about silence, but right now Douglas wouldn’t stop or reprimand him for anything in the world.

“You’re so hard,” Douglas growls, running his free hand up Martin’s spine and feeling the slickness of sweat. “And so fucking wet; just listen to you, that’s obscene.”

“I’m going to c-” Martin stutters, tensing under Douglas. “I’m... ngh, almost, oh-”

Martin’s legs shift, his feet curling themselves over Douglas’ calves, and Douglas takes care to rub all round the soft head of Martin’s cock.

“I’m coming,” Martin sobs. Needlessly, as he’s already started to contract around Douglas’ cock, but _God_ , Douglas loves to hear him say it and Martin knows it. “I’m com- I... oh God, Dougl- oh, oh, _ngh_.”

Warm liquid floods into Douglas’ hand, across his fingers and spattering the sheets, and Douglas keeps fucking Martin as Martin shakes through his orgasm. Christ, there’s so _much_ of it; Douglas’ entire palm is slick with him and _still_ Martin is coming, until his frantic noises fade into gasps and the next rough, slippery pull at his cock makes him shudder, his thighs twitching abortively towards each other.

“Well,” Douglas says, stupidly, letting Martin’s cock slip out of his grip. All his preparation has deserted him; he’s sure that he must have had an idea of what to do and say after he got Martin off, but right now all he can think of is Martin: Martin having an orgasm around his cock, Martin struggling not to wail through his pleasure, Martin shaking under Douglas’ touch like he has a fever.

Martin’s back heaves, his whole frame quivering as though he’s just run a marathon, and when Douglas loosens his grip on Martin’s hips, Martin lasts only a few moments before giving a little groan and collapsing gracelessly to the bed.

Douglas follows him down, stretching himself out on top of Martin to nuzzle kisses on the hot, damp skin of Martin’s nape. His own cock is still hard and unsatisfied, and when he rolls his hips his erection slides tightly along the slick crease of Martin’s arse. Martin groans again, sounding entirely wrung out, but arches his hips weakly, and on the next pass the head of Douglas’ cock catches and he sinks back inside Martin slightly. Martin is sinfully tight and wet around him and Douglas presses his mouth hard against Martin’s nape.

Every impulse in his body is screaming at him to push, thrust, finish himself off, but Martin is limp and post-coital and almost buzzing with satiation beneath him, and Douglas grits his teeth and tries to be patient.

Martin may be the one tied to the headboard but he’s very much the one in control here; it’s up to him where things go now, and Douglas can’t help but notice that, while Martin has come, he hasn’t chosen to tug on the ends of those ropes to free himself, and nor has he laughingly ordered Douglas to get him out of them.

Douglas hovers uncertainly, trying hard to work out what it is Martin actually _wants_ at this point, with most of his attention focussed on those little fluttering squeezes around the head of his cock.

“Are you going to keep going?” Martin asks, twisting his head to the side, his voice breathy and anxious.

“I...” Douglas struggles. Is this still part of the game or is Martin genuinely unsure? And God, Martin smells so good, here where nape meets hairline, and his bum is plushly inviting under the hard pressure of Douglas’ hips. “I’m not...”

But then he feels it: one of Martin’s splayed legs moves subtly against his own, shifting and curving, and then the gentle pressure of Martin’s foot stroking a caress along Douglas’ calf, barely discernable through Douglas’ trousers but there nonetheless.

“Go on,” Martin breathes; barely more than a whisper, and Douglas wouldn’t hear him if he weren’t lying with his face so close to Martin’s mouth. “It’s ok. Keep going.”

Relief washes through Douglas, and he presses a brief kiss to Martin’s hair. It’s rapidly followed by renewed lust.

“Don’t you start thinking that’s it,” he says quickly, picking up his persona again. “ _I’m_ not done, which means you’re not either.”

Martin exhales an exhausted little whimper, and Douglas rears back.

“Turn over,” he says, taking hold of Martin’s hips. “On your back.”

Part of it is due to the fact that, at this moment, Martin looks no more capable of going back up on hands and knees and bracing himself than he does of climbing a mountain, but part of it is secretly for the opportunity to kiss Martin, and see more of his beautiful body than just his spine.

And when Martin flops onto his back – his wrists now crossed over each other at the headboard but that’s fine, Douglas has left plenty of slack in the rope for precisely this possibility – Martin sucks in such a deep gasp of air that the thought occurs to Douglas it’s perhaps a good thing to lift Martin’s face away from the mound of pillows, before he smothers himself from sheer post-coital languor.

“Look at you,” Douglas says, shoving his way back between Martin’s legs and spreading them wide. The light seeping in though the curtains is dim, but he can just about make out Martin’s slim, pale lines. “Beautiful thing. What’s that man of yours doing, leaving you to sleep alone at nights?”

He rubs his palms along Martin’s hips and up over his stomach; it’s not a gesture particularly suited to anonymous sex with some faceless intruder but he can’t help himself, it’s too tempting to have Martin all spread out and at his mercy.

“I...” Martin stammers. He never _does_ seem to know what to say when Douglas compliments him, and now is no exception. “Ah...”

“This is a problem, though,” Douglas interrupts, sliding his hands back down and in, until he can rest both thumbs against the base of Martin’s cock, sticky with come and as small and soft now as he was hard earlier. He tries to make his voice severe. “I’ve something of a dislike for shagging someone who hasn’t got it up. What do you suppose we do about this, hmm?”

Another flagrant lie, as Douglas adores tugging Martin into bed no matter what their respective states of arousal, but Martin shivers.

“ ‘m sorry,” he murmurs.

“I should think so too,” Douglas growls at him. “Your lack of self-control is shameful.” Delicately, he strokes the pad of his thumb along Martin’s cock. “You’re going to need to make it up to me.”

There’s a slightly strangled noise from further up the bed, and Douglas could swear that Martin’s cock pulses ever so slightly under his touch. He leans down and leaves an open-mouthed kiss on Martin’s hipbone.

“If you don’t like it, tough.”

Another kiss closer in towards Martin’s groin, and Martin shivers under Douglas’ mouth. Martin’s cock lies soft and limp against his thigh, and Douglas gently cups it in his palm to brush a kiss against it. Martin tastes of lube, and come from his orgasm; Douglas prefers him fresh out of the shower, if he’s being honest, but it’s not enough of a turn-off to make him want to stop. Particularly when Martin makes a noise from further up the bed, his voice gone high-pitched and wavery.

It’s a terribly slow process, and more than once Douglas has to subtly pause when Martin’s thighs tighten against his shoulders, but gradually Martin’s cock starts to firm under the careful attentions of his mouth. Martin’s noises sound half-aroused and half as though Douglas is subjecting him to torment, and Douglas lets himself be guided by Martin’s breathy sounds and the pressure of his knees against Douglas’ ribcage.

Douglas sucks him clean, until Martin tastes of nothing save himself, and then he mouths at the head – and draws back to pay particular attention to Martin’s balls, pushing Martin’s thighs wider with his hands so he can get closer – until Martin starts to taste of fresh arousal and his cock is most of the way hard again.

“That’s better,” he says, leaning back up. If he were a better man he’d keep going for longer, until Martin was completely hard again, but he’s only human and working at Martin hasn’t done anything for his own state of frustrated arousal.

Shuffling forward on his knees, Douglas tugs at Martin’s hips until they rest in his lap, and fumbles in the darkness for the lubricant.

“Still no noise,” he warns Martin, smearing more on his fingers and pressing them gently up into Martin, and Martin bites down on a moan.

The next instant Douglas almost moans himself as he takes himself in hand and starts to push back inside Martin. Martin is tight, and yielding, and God this isn’t going to take much at all to make him come.

“There, now,” Douglas grunts, taking his hand away and leaning forward to brace his palms on the bed either side of Martin’s chest. He sinks inside down to the root, and dimly sees Martin twisting his face to the side and giving a strangled groan.

“God,” Douglas moans, unable to silence himself, and thrusts a few times. “ _Fuck_ , that’s good.”

For the life of him, Douglas doesn’t know how he holds out as long as he does. Martin is writhing underneath him, his knees pressing tightly against Douglas’ ribs until Douglas pauses to haul them up over his shoulders, changing the angle of his cock inside Martin and making Martin cry out. When he starts thrusting again Martin almost wails, biting down on his lip, and Douglas awkwardly takes his weight on one hand and fumbles between Martin’s legs to find that he’s fully hard now, his cock curving up hot and wet against his stomach.

Douglas tries to keep it going but it’s too much: his shoulder is starting to ache from bracing himself on only one hand, and after a couple of minutes he has to lean back up, sitting back on his heels and rolling his shoulders subtly.

“Come on,” he says, gripping Martin’s thigh with one hand, and with the other tugging at Martin’s cock in the short, fast strokes he knows are the quickest way to make Martin come. He jerks his hips up in the same rhythm, just small, shallow pushes into Martin’s body, and Martin makes a hoarse sound as his thighs start to tense.

“I can’t,” Martin whimpers, even as his knees flex and tighten over Douglas’ shoulder, “oh God I can’t, I can’t...”

“You feel like you’re about to,” Douglas says bluntly. Martin’s arse is tightening around him, and his stomach muscles jump erratically. “Come on, let me have it.”

“I-” Martin gasps, voice breaking, “I _can’t_ , I- oh, oh God, that’s...I-”

This time Martin can’t stay quiet as he comes, although he turns his head and tries to stifle it against his arm, and Douglas strokes Martin through the couple of weak spurts he produces before leaning forward and pushing into Martin deeply once again.

He can’t, he simply _can’t_ , wait any longer, and while Martin is still shivering and giving little gasping noises Douglas grits his teeth and thrusts into Martin, hard enough to make the headboard shake and knock against the wall. He’s close already, his cock throbbing, the familiar tension and pressure in his balls, and Douglas lets his head hang and can’t help grunting as each thrust, each noise from Martin, pushes him closer.

When his orgasm starts Douglas fists his hand in a pillow by Martin’s head; it’s that or shout the place down. This whole encounter has been a long, drawn-out tease, and rush when he finally comes leaves him panting and groaning as he buries himself in Martin’s pliant body and shudders through it.

It’s intense, and when the last tremors die away Douglas gasps raggedly for breath. His arms ache, his muscles burning, and he abruptly sags down on top of Martin, letting Martin’s legs slide down off his shoulders and splay on the bed. Martin pants, his chest rising and falling against Douglas’ face, and Douglas presses his cheek to Martin’s hard ribcage, closing his eyes and feeling the faint quivers where Martin’s heart pounds.

“Oh,” Martin sighs. “Oh, _Douglas_.”

He sounds positively boneless with satiation, but also faintly breathless and Douglas stirs himself and lifts his weight off Martin’s torso, groaning a little as his softening cock slips free from Martin’s body.

“Hmm,” Douglas murmurs. He kneels up, refusing to accept disobedience from his shaky legs, to rub his palms along Martin’s thighs. And then, because while this whole encounter has been about Martin – touching Martin, pleasuring Martin, trying to make every detail live up to the fantasy in Martin’s head – Douglas hasn’t once called him by name, he says, “Martin.”

All at once Douglas has had enough of the darkness and the furtiveness of it all, he wants to see Martin’s face, and he shuffles out from between Martin’s legs and reaches over to snap the bedside light on.

In its glow, Martin looks thoroughly shagged. Hair sticking up wildly, his cheeks brightly flushed, and his lips bitten, and Douglas has a sudden surge of love for him. He’s caught Martin in the act of fumbling with the long quick-release ends of the ropes.

“Let me help, darling,” he says, reaching up, but before he can get there Martin has tugged on one of the ends and the knot around his right wrist unravels in an instant.

Martin lifts both arms – pulling the loose end of the rope through the gap in the headboard rather than freeing his left wrist – and wraps them around Douglas’ neck, and Douglas immediately leans in to return his hug.

He’s intending to keep it to just a hug, given where his mouth has been, but Martin tilts his face up and plants a kiss squarely on Douglas’ lips and Douglas strokes Martin’s face with the fingertips of his clean hand.

“Oh _Douglas_ ,” Martin sighs again, openly adoring, rubbing his nose along the curve of Douglas’ jaw as Douglas smiles helplessly.

“Was that the sort of thing you wanted, then?” Douglas asks. A bit redundant to ask, given that Martin looks as though Douglas has just hung the moon for him, but Douglas – God help him – is an older man with a lover much younger than he is, and he likes the reassurance that comes with hearing it. Not that he’d ever admit as much to Martin.

“ _Yes_.” Martin beams at him, and then laughs. It’s such a bright, happy sound that Douglas can’t help grinning. “Oh God, that was amazing. You were... and those things you said... and when you turned me over and made me...” Martin wriggles a little against Douglas, wrapping one leg around Douglas’ thighs and biting his own lip. “Mmm.”

Martin glances down, while Douglas is in the middle of running his hand down Martin’s back, seeming to notice for the first time that Douglas is still wearing his clothes, the trousers tangled awkwardly halfway down his thighs.

“Take these off,” he commands with easy familiarity, sitting up and starting to pull at the hem of Douglas’ top. “Come on.”

“Let’s get this off you first,” Douglas counters, sitting up also and catching Martin’s hands where they’re working his shirt up his torso. “Here...”

He laces their fingers together and holds Martin’s left hand steady as he tugs at the trailing end of the rope, and it falls away to reveal bright pink, chafed skin around Martin’s wrist.

“Oh God,” Douglas says, slightly appalled and noticing for the first time that Martin’s right wrist looks the same. “Christ, I didn’t realise it would do _that_ , I should have bought a different type of-”

“It doesn’t matter.” Martin is all smiles as he tugs his hand free and renews his attentions on Douglas’ clothes. “Really, I’m fine.”

“But you-”

“It’s my fault; I was pulling at them.”

Douglas pauses while Martin tugs his top over his head, and once done Martin tosses it over the side of the bed.

“I should have thought of that,” Douglas says, still watching Martin’s wrists.

But Martin only laughs at him. “Of course you shouldn’t, how could you?” He kneels up, wobbling just a little on shaky thighs, and hooks his fingers in Douglas’ underwear and trousers to begin working them determinedly down Douglas’ legs. “I didn’t know myself that I was going to do it.”

Douglas makes a dubious noise but, as he looks over at the rather expansive wet spot on the sheet from Martin’s first orgasm, he can’t deny that Martin obviously enjoyed himself. Watching Martin work, and lifting his feet to let Martin tug bunched trousers and underwear off them, Douglas remembers the last item in the bag he put together for this.

“Here.” He passes Martin the damp flannel he prepared earlier, and looks away diplomatically as Martin wipes his chest and stomach and pushes it between his thighs, giving himself a perfunctory clean.

“Thank you,” Martin says suddenly. Douglas’ trousers, boxers, and flannel join his shirt on the floor, and as Martin stretches himself out next to Douglas then Douglas automatically turns onto his side to face him. Martin cuddles close, and presses a fervent kiss to Douglas’ left collarbone. “That was... well, amazing. I’ve never told anyone that fantasy before, and I never even _dreamed_ that you might want to, well, do it.”

The expression on Martin’s face as he looks at Douglas is really almost worshipful, and Douglas gathers Martin’s hands in his own and lifts them to brush gentle kisses over his wrists.

“It was divine,” he says gently. “You have an unexpectedly filthy mind, Captain Crieff.” He lifts a hand to touch a lock of ginger hair at Martin’s temple. “I can’t tell you how lucky it makes me feel that you shared that.”

Martin bites his lip, flushing a little. Or maybe that’s just the fading remnants of his sex flush combined with sleepiness; before Douglas can move Martin leans down to snag the duvet from where Douglas shoved it down to the foot of the bed and draws it up over them both. He snuggles – there’s really no other word for it – up to Douglas, and Douglas reaches behind himself to turn off the light before putting his arm around Martin.

“That was wonderful,” Martin murmurs, soft and sleepy. “ _You’re_ wonderful.”

In the darkness, Douglas smiles. “You’re rather wonderful yourself.”

“Hmm.” Martin strokes idly at Douglas’ back but he’s slipping away already, Douglas can feel his focus slackening and fading.

“Goodnight, darling,” Douglas says quietly, starting to drift off himself.

There’s no reply from Martin save a drowsy murmur, and Douglas smiles. Whoever would have thought that, beneath his facade, Martin would have such a deliciously filthy fantasy life? Perhaps, Douglas thinks, in the last few moments before sleep, if he plays his cards right, he might be able to coax Martin into revealing one or two others.

 

**End**


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